


Wishes Among Stars

by TraiM



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, F/M, One-Shot, Slow Burn, what if
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:28:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23915344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TraiM/pseuds/TraiM
Summary: Just a collection of one-shots and short stories featuring what-if scenarios and other scenes I wished had been included in the show. No modern AU's.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Octavia Blake, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 15
Kudos: 30





	1. Nevermore (part 1)

**Author's Note:**

> What if Clarke had been the one to receive the chip in 3x10 instead? What if she had been the one the rest needed to save? Part 1 of a 3-part story.

I wanted them back. The memories. The pieces of me, taken and crammed into some corner of my mind I couldn't reach.

The fade was gradual. I didn't know anything was wrong until I couldn't recall what I wanted to in detail. My father's face was warped beyond recognition. I couldn't remember how to use a scalpel. I couldn't hear the screams of the Mountain Men.

I couldn't remember what it was like to feel guilty.

That was when I knew something was very, very wrong.

"What did you do?" I asked ALIE. We were in the med bay, waiting on my mom. I wanted to ask her about the chip. What she had discovered. But I needed to speak to ALIE first, who stood stoically before me, dressed from neck to knee in the color of blood. "Why . . . why can't I remember anything?"

"Humans do not seek relief in pain," ALIE replied robotically, hands clasped in front of her. "It is my job to extract everything that triggers it, including any relevant material."

I stared at her, a pit of horror forming deep inside me. My memories. My life. I could forget who I was, but that didn't change what I'd done. It didn't take this world by the seams and unravel my choices like spools of thread. Others still remembered. Especially the dead.

"Give them back," I said, voice breathy like her words had torn the air from my lungs. I heard my desperation. Heard it and felt it running through every inch of me. "I want them back."

ALIE blinked and tilted her head just slightly, barely enough to disturb her perfect auburn hair. She scrutinized me and a small line appeared between her brows, too human for my comfort. "Why? You have suffered a great deal, Clarke. It is my understanding that pain is human's greatest fear, second only to death. Why would you want to reclaim it?"

I couldn't think. I saw a woman but there was nothing there. Nothing living. Nothing real. Nothing human. She was a program, offering an out that had been too good to be true. And I'd fallen for it.

"Because I'm not . . . me," I said. "I don't deserve this. I've killed people. I owe it to remember them."

ALIE's gaze never left mine. "Your logic is flawed."

I walked over to her, wishing she was tangible so I'd have a target. I looked her in those too-mortal brown eyes. "This is what's flawed. Everything you are. You're wrong. You're a liar and a thief with ulterior motives and I'm telling you right now to _give me back my memories!"_

Just then, the door to the med bay swung open and in came my mom. But I didn't look at her. The only one I could see was ALIE.

Her expression didn't change, as if it were something carved from stone. She sighed again. Automatic. "Fine, but don't say I did not warn you."

And it hit. With the force of a tidal wave. Like a blindfold being pulled off, and I could suddenly see. The weight pressed against my temples, drowning me in terrible images. Of blood and gore and death. I thought I heard my mom calling for me, but it was muted by the hundreds of screams shredding my ears.

There were too many memories. Too many images to see them clearly. They blurred together until they became one huge mural of red and black. Shadows and ruin. Fire and ash.

"How does it feel, Clarke?" ALIE asked me, standing beside me on a cot. How'd I get on a cot?

"This was the pain you wanted," she continued. Her crimson dress amidst the terror made her look like something ethereal. "How does it feel?"

Like death, I wanted to say. Who I was, those pieces, they felt like death.

I clenched my jaw so hard I felt something crack.

"I can take it away," ALIE said, looking at me expectantly. Like she knew I would. Like this was a test she knew I'd fail. "All you have to do is say yes."

I grit my teeth. My nails bit into my palm. I could feel something wet sliding between my fingers.

"Just say yes, Clarke."

"No," I choked, the word strangled. Barely a breath.

The tidal wave grew, and the faces of children flashed before my eyes. More screams.

"Say yes, Clarke."

"No."

"Clarke-"

I felt something prick my neck and a sweet darkness swept over me. Those images dissipated into nothing. I nearly sighed in relief when the world went from red to a beautiful black.

********

I had the vague impression of being carried. Poorly, like the person was struggling to bear my weight. Wind nipped at my arms. Sounds faded in and out. The rustling of branches. The crush of dirt and dead leaves. 

Blackness tumbled in again.

"Clarke?" I heard someone say, what felt like mere moments later. Instinctively, I retracted into myself, reminded of ALIE. Reminded of all that blood and horror. I wanted back into the dark.

"Tell me what happened," the voice barked, much too hard for ALIE. Much too low to be a woman. An image of a man with curly, black hair flashed through my mind. Bellamy.

"ALIE," said someone else, voice hoarse and full of contempt. I almost didn't recognize it as Jasper. He used to be bursting with life. Now, just the sound of him was off. As wrong as a program stealing memories.

"The chip I was telling you about. It messes with your head; makes you see her," he explained. "Clarke was screaming in the med bay and Abby knocked her out. I tried to get to the others but . . ."

"But what?" I felt Bellamy's presence, standing somewhere close by.

Jasper swallowed. "But Jaha had already chipped everyone."

"That better be followed by you telling me how we can get it out of her."

"Yeah, Raven was-"Just then the world seemed to drop as Jasper staggered.

"Here, give her to me," Bellamy said, and I felt my weight transferred from weak arms to a pair of infinitely stronger ones. I could hear his heartbeat, pounding like a drum at my ear. "Now what about Raven? Where is she?"

A pause.

"I couldn't get her out," Jasper said, tone dropping a few degrees. "Jaha was watching her like a hawk but I remember her saying something about the wristbands."

" _Our_ wristbands?"

"Yeah."

"We'll ask Sinclair," Bellamy started walking.

"Say yes, Clarke."

The change in voice was enough to pull me from the shallow waters I'd been lingering under and my eyes flew open. I was greeted by trees, painted black with evening. Bellamy's face appeared above me, tense and anxious, but behind him...

"I just need your agreement, Clarke," said ALIE, the fabric of her dress appearing black in the shadows. "And I will make it stop."

I hesitated, just enough to draw up my courage. Then I gave a small, almost imperceptible, shake of my head.

The images slammed into me once more.

Harder, heavier, clearer than before. More blood. More death. I saw eighteen graves, the dirt newly disturbed. I watched a girl pitch herself over a cliff and disappear, as swift as a candle flame being blown out.

"Stop!" I screamed, grabbing my head as if I could tear out the images. Bellamy almost dropped me and his look of anxiety gave way to what could only be fear.

"What's happening to her? Clarke?"

"It's ALIE," Jasper said, and I watched him through one eye as a world burned through the other. He pulled something small from his pocket. A syringe.

"These people cannot help you, Clarke," ALIE chimed, standing at my head now, brown eyes boring into my head. No one else noticed. Bellamy was too busy pulling back my hair as Jasper fumbled with the syringe.

"Only I can take it all away," she said.

I was so tempted. Every part of me was trying in vain to claw away from the images. That horrible, relentless pain. But I owed this to my ghosts. I owed it to remember them.

I raised my chin in one small act of defiance. "No."

ALIE nodded. "Have it your way then."

Another wave surged, but before it could crash over me, that same tingling sensation kissed my neck. "We're gonna help you, Clarke," Bellamy's words floated down to me through the fresh wave of darkness. "We'll fix this."

He lied almost as well as ALIE.


	2. Nevermore (Part 2)

The strong arms were gone. In their place fell the soft pelts of fur. I was on a bed. The smell of burning wood hung heavy on the air, oak and spice and something that smelled old.

"She's waking up," someone noted. This one was female, but I knew it wasn't ALIE. I thought it was Octavia.

"Give her another dose," Bellamy said, to Jasper, I assumed.

"That was the last one."

"It's _hurting_ her."

"I could've left her behind. But I got her out of there," Jasper hissed, his words coated in that contempt. Contempt for _me_ , I realized. "As far as I'm concerned, I don't owe her or you anything."

Bellamy gave no reply.

"How's Sinclair doing on the wristband?" that feminine voice sounded. Definitely Octavia.

"We left him in the other room," said Bellamy, not bothering to elaborate.

A few minutes elapsed in silence, and I spent them trying to force my way back under the waves. Into the blackness. Because I knew, without even opening my eyes, that she was close by. Waiting.

And then, just like that, the last bits of the darkness evaporated. I didn't want to open my eyes. Didn't want to see her standing close enough to touch me.

As if I'd called her, something warm fell over my hand and I flinched. But then the hold tightened. Fingers wrapped around my own. "Clarke?" Bellamy's voice came, just above a whisper.

"I told you already that they won't be able to help you," she said, and I could feel her on the opposite side of Bellamy.

My hand gripped his back, fear washing through me like ice water. My eyes snapped open again and there was ALIE on my left. Dutiful. Punctual. Deadly.

_No, no, no, no._

"What is it?" Bellamy demanded, the edge in his voice sharpened to a brilliant point.

"I am the only one who can end your pain," she said.

"No," I managed, forgetting Bellamy's words. Forgetting everything except the woman standing beside me.

"Clarke." Bellamy's other hand went under my chin and he forced my eyes to him. "You have to tell me what's happening," he said slowly.

I opened my mouth to do exactly that. To tell him about the AI. To beg him to get this _thing_ out of my head.

But I was cut short by the world erupting around me.

Blood. So much blood. It didn't touch any part of me except my hands. They were drenched in it.

Bellamy saw the change and stood abruptly, leaning over me. "Clarke? Tell me what she's doing!"

"She's . . ." My body felt like lead, each breath harder to take than the last. "She's making me remember."

Bellamy shook his head in confusion, eyes wide, hand still bound around mine. "Remember what?"

_Everything._

I saw my dad, the once-warped image of him now crystallized. I watched again as he stepped into the airlock chamber and was sent out into space. I recalled the rawness of my throat as I screamed after him.

"You know it wasn't your mother who cost your father his life," ALIE drawled, fingers laced together. Her head was positioned in that perpetual tilt. "It was you. You could have done more. You could have saved him."

"Shut up," I ground, squeezing my eyes shut. I opened them.

"And Charlotte," continued ALIE, glancing away as if she were picturing the little girl that had murdered my best friend. "She was lost." ALIE's eyes met mine again. "And you could not save her, either. How could you, when you failed to recognize the signs of her instability?"

My breathing grew sporadic as my heart broke inside my chest. Over and over again, as everything I did, the person I was, was uncovered piece by piece.

"And Finn," said ALIE. "You did kill him. Tell me, what did it feel like to have the blood of the boy you loved coating your hands?"

That memory flashed across my vision, like I was reliving it. I stood before Finn again, the small blade clenched in my hand, sliding between his ribs.

"They would've tortured him," I said, but it came out as a whimper. I didn't want to remember this. I didn't want to _be_ this.

ALIE took a seat on the bed, so close to me my skin crawled. "And what about the mountain?"

I flinched again as my vision was consumed by the memories. I saw the Mess Hall, filled with bleeding bodies. "What is your excuse for this?"

My eyes stung. "I didn't have a choice!"

From somewhere far away, I heard Bellamy yelling at the others to go and find something to help.

But they wouldn't find anything. It was entirely possible that I wasn't someone salvageable. Maybe I didn't want to be.

"You chose to save your people by wiping out theirs," murmured ALIE. "That burden . . . must be quite heavy."

More images. That tidal wave grew to something otherworldly. I saw Jasper's face as he clung to Maya. I felt the pressure of the lever branding my palm as I pulled it down. I heard the screams that followed just moments after.

"Stop," I gasped, tears slipping out and running down my cheeks.

"Get Sinclair in here now!" Bellamy roared.

"I need your agreement first," ALIE said. "And I will do as you ask."

I ground my teeth together and yanked my fingers from Bellamy's. I clutched at my head, nails biting into my scalp. I half expected to find my hands full of shards from my shattered skull.

"Say yes, and the pain will end."

I pulled my knees into me and shook my head.

"You try to save everyone," ALIE said, leaning a bit closer, not a hint of remorse on her perfect, human face. "And in doing so, you unknowingly condemn them all. You are their doom."

 _"People die when they're around you."_ Bellamy's words rang back to me.

 _"One hundred and eighty two men,"_ came Emerson's voice. _"One hundred and seventy three women. Twenty six children. Two of them were mine."_

"That is who you are," said ALIE. "Wanheda."

I screamed.

It was a sound that came at the edge of a precipice. On the ruins of a broken city. Before the murderer of your people, with the knowledge that you were the last of your kind.

I screamed in denial, as the images came again and again, like the lashings of a whip. I was committing those acts for a second time. All of it.

"This battery isn't charged enough," I heard someone say, but the sounds of the others were devoured by the screams ringing around me.

"Agree, Clarke," ALIE told me. "And end this."

 _Take it,_ I nearly said. _Stop the pain. Stop it all._ I felt the words on my tongue.

That earlier warmth appeared again, this time at my cheek. Bellamy's hand cupped my face and I looked from ALIE long enough to see his eyes. Brown and scared and haunted. Human. "We're almost there, Clarke. Just hold on."

_Hold on._

Then the memories surged up, like a wall. Impenetrable. I saw a line of kids waiting in a hall. I remembered Maya's kind smile. The peace on my dad's face as he drowned in a sea of stars. I remembered Ontari, sitting on a throne before the bodies of the children she broke.

I bit my lip so hard it bled. I felt Bellamy's hand tense against my cheek.

"Say it, Clarke," ALIE repeated. "Say it and all of this will be over."

I forced my eyes to her, to see through the images that cloaked me. People hurting and bleeding and dying around me. As brilliant and fleeting as embers.

She'd wanted me to lose myself. And I'd wanted to be lost. Maybe, if this involved only me, I would take her up on that offer.

But it didn't.

_"Pain is human's greatest fear, second only to death."_

It was a good thing, then, that I wasn't afraid to die.

"What are you thinking, Clarke?" Asked ALIE, though I knew she could access my thoughts if she wanted. This was the last shred of free will she was giving me. Waiting for me to give it right back.

"I think," I said, in a voice that sounded like rocks grinding together. Someone burst back into the room with a metal box in hand. "That my friends are going to fry you."

"Survival may not be possible," said ALIE, looking from the others to me. "This could eliminate you."

I almost smiled. "Then I guess I'll see you on the other side."

_"Now!"_

A buzzing sensation ignited over my skin and wound up my neck.

And then I was burning. Burning, burning down with the rest of the world.

It broke apart and collapsed from under me. I felt myself falling, the memories wrapping around me like a cold blanket, suffocating me.

Far above, someone else was shouting, but the words were lost to the cacophony of ruin. There was just the guilt and the regret keeping me company.

For a little while.

But then came the faces. They bloomed around me, and it was like I was suddenly standing in a huge crowd. A crowd of the dead. There was my father, and Wells. I glimpsed Lincoln. And there were others, whose names I didn't know because I'd never wanted to learn them.

The noises grew, louder and louder, and it was only when all their mouths opened, that I realized they were shouting one thing. Over and over again.

 _"Wanheda,"_ they screamed.

They pressed in on me and I raised my hands to ward them off.

Men, women, children. They were all shouting, so loud it rattled through my head and shook up my blood. I saw the hate in some of their eyes while I caught only simple questions in others. Why?

Why couldn't there have been another choice? Why were they the ones who had to be caught in the crossfire? _Why?_

"I'm sorry," I said, choking on that one, pitiful word. "I didn't want this. I'm sorry!"

They came closer, pushing, shoving. Their faces blocked out everything else, too many to count.

This time, I didn't put up a fight. I just dropped my arms, and let them in.


	3. Nevermore (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3/3 of this short story.

Death liked to tease.

I was starting to realize that, as the blackness I was surrounded in began to curb, like waves rolling back into the sea. Or maybe I was dead and this was what came for executioners. I didn't know whether to fear that punishment, or be grateful I was given one at all. Finally, something I deserved.

It wasn't until I heard the voices that I knew I wasn't completely dead. At first, I thought they were my ghosts. But I doubt any ghost would have the sick humor to tell its brother they look dead on their feet.

"Are Jasper and Monty still guarding the door?" the latter responded instead. I recognized Bellamy's voice instantly, even though his name wouldn't appear in my head.

"For now." Octavia. "I know you don't want to move her but we can't wait any longer," she said, an edge to her tone, one having been present since Lincoln. Dimly, I wondered if it would ever soften again. "ALIE's minions could be waiting for us right now. The rest of us are going back to Arkadia." A pause. "With or without you."

Footsteps signaled to me that she was leaving and I heard the sift of cloth being moved as she ducked behind some kind of flap or curtain.

It was good timing. Already, feeling was starting to bleed back into me. Those black waters were gone, becoming nothing more than a wading pool, steadily drying out. I could feel my hands and my toes. But louder was the pain in my skull. And when strong hands wove beneath my legs and head, jostling my head, the points at my temples flared. Pain stabbed at the base of my neck, chasing away the last drops of dark water.

A hiss escaped me as my eyes opened.

Instantly the hands on me went still, and then tightened, ever so slightly. "Clarke?"

Something pounded in my ear and it took me a second to realize it was Bellamy's heart. I looked up at him, moving only my blurred gaze and not my head. I was greeted with molten brown eyes hovering over me.

"Hey," I said. Or tried to say. It came out strangled and dry, that one word scraping against my throat. I tried to clear it and winced.

"Hey yourself," said Bellamy, and though some of the tension seemed to lift from him, there was a worry in his eyes, in the form of that line, the one that always had a habit of appearing between his brows. "Here," he went to put me back down again, but I shook my head-and instantly regretted it.

"What is it?"

I clenched my teeth. "Headache," I murmured quietly, sounding fractionally more coherent.

"That would be from the EMP," he said. "Courtesy of Sinclair."

I resisted the urge to rub my scalp. "Remind me to give him my thanks."

"Clarke." This time, Bellamy didn't try to hide the haunted note in his voice or the haunted look crouching low in his eyes. He pursed his lips and though I doubted I was lighter than the pack he usually carried around, he listened and didn't relinquish his hold on me. "I know better than to ask what happened in there. But are you sure you're okay?"

I took a slow breath, exhaling through my mouth. The memories of the previous hours felt like nothing more than scattered remnants, once spearing buildings, now only ruins in my mind. But I remembered pieces, of the voices. The screams. The blame. Of my own raucous guilt.

I didn't have anything to grab onto so I settled for the lapel of his black jacket. "She wouldn't let me go."

As if to demonstrate, Bellamy pulled me closer, wary of my still-aching skull. "No, because she knew what you were capable of. You beat her this time, Clarke. Which means we can beat her again."

I tried to smile at his optimism, such a rare thing, but doubt crawled in. "It won't be easy," I said, wishing I sounded stronger. That I was stronger. I was no such thing; on the contrary, I'd never been weaker in my life.

Bellamy hiked me up higher, until his breath alone was enough to disturb strands of my hair. And though there was fear in him, the look in his eyes was resolved, forged in flame and welded to iron.

"No," he agreed. "It never is."


	4. First Impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was Bellamy's first impression of Clarke? What made it change?

Only one hand went up in the room. Eager and pompous. I didn't even have to look to know who that small hand belonged to; I already knew, just as everyone else in the small classroom did.

"Phytoplankton are the mass producers of oxygen on Earth, not trees," spoke Clarke Griffin, perfectly clear as if she were giving us one of her presentations. I always hated her presentations; the details were enough to put half the class to sleep and make the other half wish they were floated. Clarke took great care to exhaust every piece of information, which consequentially made every presentation unbearably long.

"Very good, Clarke," Professor Pike praised her and though she smiled and lowered her head, seemingly somewhat embarrassed at the attention, I could practically feel her satisfaction from my seat. All the way in the back.

I rolled my pencil between my fingers, annoyed.

I couldn't stand people like her, believing they were better because of their place on the Ark. As the last human beings in existence, I used to think each of us should've been treated equally. But that wasn't how it worked. Some of us were for security. Some of us were for labor, which made us the most disposable. And then there were people like Clarke Griffin; the privileged. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth and her nose perpetually raised upwards. I doubted she'd ever worked a day in her life. I equally doubted that day would ever come.

"Any theories as to how the levels of radiation would've affected the ecosystem? What do you think it would be like now?" asked Pike, gazing back at his students expectantly. Some meek hands were raised but his eyes settled on me. "How about you, Bellamy?"

I grimaced, slouching back in my seat. "If anything were living, it could cause genetic anomalies, I guess."

"What do you mean by anomalies?"

I glanced from him to the surface of my desk. "I don't know," I murmured. "A two headed deer?"

That got a few cackles out of some of my classmates, but Pike didn't join in. He nodded thoughtfully. "Radiation can have some strange effects. I'm not sure of any two-headed deer, but it's an interesting theory. Good." Unlike Clarke, this was the praise I got.

He moved on to another question and I faded into the background.

*******

I was mopping a part of the floor when I heard it; thundering footfalls erupting down the corridor, causing anyone within earshot to stop and watch in curiosity. Or fear. I was one of the latter, and I had to remind myself that they weren't coming for me; the Guard had already taken everything I had. All that was left was my life, and it wasn't worth much.

I tried to keep my focus on the mop, but when the guards rounded the corner, dressed all in black like something foreboding, I couldn't resist a glance. My eyes met the Head of Guard—Shumway—for a moment before I registered the person he was escorting. He was tall, with disheveled blonde hair and eyes that looked vaguely familiar. Lines fanned from them, hinting at many past smiles, but he wasn't smiling now. I knew a death march when I saw one. This man was on his way to the airlock chamber. On his way to the stars.

As the Guard passed, the man's gaze met mine. They locked.

I used to be one of those hands on their shoulders, leading the living to their graves. Was any of them innocent? Was this man?

I expected him to look afraid, but he didn't. On the contrary, it was determination that burned in his eyes, and maybe even a little peace.

Something tightened inside me and I wondered what he'd done to deserve being floated. Was it theft? Black market trading? A second child that was now on their way to the Sky Box?

I swallowed.

So many secrets in those eyes. I wanted to know who this man was, if he was a father. If he had a reason to live. But I couldn't do anything but stare back.

The man didn't look away, not until he was forced down the corridor and he had no choice but to break the contact. But I kept looking; I watched the guards lead him forward; watched as he disappeared around the bend. Even when he was gone, I couldn't shake the look in his eyes. That pride, even as he walked to his death. That peace.

It was a look that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

******

I shouldn't have done it. Guilt plagued me. It ate away at my insides and made my head swim. And then it made me angry. Why should I feel guilty for killing a murderer? For killing my mother's murderer? I should be glad he was dead. I should be grateful I was the one who got to pull the trigger.

These thoughts lasted only a heartbeat, between the dropship detaching for the Ark and kicking up speed. I held onto the straps I'd tied around myself, keeping me to the walls. Ragged breathing and muffled screams drifted up to me from the one hundred individuals far below me, buckled in their seats. I could see some through the crack in the small spacing between the metal rafters.

The sensation of falling grew more intense, shaking me to my core and I clutched on the straps. I closed my eyes and breathed in shallow spurts through my mouth.

The dropship suddenly lurched forward, followed by a loud crash and a chorus of shouts echoing around me. "What was that?" One person screamed.

 _The atmosphere,_ I wanted to say, but I was distracted by someone suddenly obscuring my limited view. Two lounging figures drifted beneath me.

Some idiots had untied their buckles and were now floating around the heart of the dropship. If they didn't get in their seats, they wouldn't be the first humans to return to ground. They'd be the first to be buried beneath it.

"Hey, you two!" someone shouted, as if reading my mind. "Stay put if you want to live!"

But it was too late. The inside of the dropship shook violently. Some parts of the walls began peeling back. The place grew hot and stifling and I was struggling to breathe. I kept my eyes on the two floating idiots.

My body suddenly dropped, feeling weighted like my very blood had been turned to iron. A smack came from below and I stared as one of the idiots slammed against the wall, rattling around like a ball in a can. I saw a splatter of red and then the dropship gave one last shudder. The belts held me in place, forcing out the air from my lungs. Smoke bloomed around me.

Everything went still.

"Are we down?" another person asked, but I was already clamoring to unfasten the belts. I unraveled them and took in the burning air. My heart was pounding with enough force to knock me over, but I didn't pay it any mind; I was too focused on reaching someone just below me. I freed myself as the others did. Broken words sounded from below, a mix of fear and excitement and panic wafting up to me.

I used the beams as leverage, holding onto the rafters with shaky hands. I wiggled my way between them and dropped.

I was instantly enveloped by a tight throng of people. Elbows bit into my sides. Feet stepped on mine. I shoved my way through, towards the front entrance. I kept my eyes open for brown hair and blue eyes.

"The outer door is on the lower level!" I said, nearly having to shout to be heard over the chatter.

Someone ahead of me turned around. A curtain of blonde fanned around her face.

"No, we can't just open the doors," Clarke Griffin said to me.

I tried to swallow my surprise but it was hard. It would seem she had lost her hold on the social elite's ladder, falling down, down, down to where the rest of us were hanging from. A better person would've felt bad for her, but all I felt was smug. Much good all that studying did her.

"Hey," I barked at those around me, still elbowing me and breaking my toes. "Just back it up, Guys!"

Finally they obliged and I made it to the door. It was as imposing as any airlock chamber's. I reached for the switch.

"Stop," Clarke said to me, her brows furrowed in hesitation. "The air could be toxic."

I looked at her through narrowed eyes. Up on the Ark, she was a princess. But down here she was like the rest of us; disposable, rejected, sentenced. I wouldn't take orders from her kind again. This time, she would take them from me.

"If the air is toxic," I told her, "we're all dead anyway."

********

He was going to die. There was no question about it. The burns were too severe, scorching his whole body and melting the first layers of flesh. Blood bubbled in the corners of his mouth. Milky eyes stared at me, but his gaze went straight through, blind.

My legs shook beneath me.

His cracked lips gaped, asking me a question with no voice. He knew he was going to die, too. He just wasn't going as quickly as he wanted.

"Pl-ease," Atom begged me, clutching at the dirt beneath him. "Ki-kill me."

The air in my lungs evaporated as I dropped to my knees beside him. My jaw worked but I couldn't think of anything kind to say. He was dying and he was in pain. No words could change that.

With quivering fingers, I retrieved the small blade in my pack.

Atom kept begging, not seeing the jagged edge of the blade I gripped in my hand.

 _This is for him,_ I tried to tell myself. I wasn't killing him. I was ending his pain. Nothing more.

Yet I couldn't seem to raise the blade. Instead I sat motionless, staring at the dying boy at my knees. Seconds passed, but it may as well have been an eternity.

The snapping of a twig grabbed my attention and I looked up. A blonde halo was moving through the brush and a moment later, Clarke appeared. She stopped in her tracks, looking from me to Atom.

There was a question in her eyes and in reply, I gave a small shake of my head.

She pursed her lips and came over. I didn't know what to expect as she sat down on Atom's other side, opposing me. He heard her and his white eyes swiveled in her direction. The pleas poured from his mouth like blood.

Clarke took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay," she whispered. She reached up and laid one hand on Atom's hair, caressing it gently. Kindly.

With the other, she motioned for the knife.

Silently, I handed it over. My throat felt tight as her fingers moved through Atom's hair. And then, she started to hum. It was a soft melody that came from somewhere deep inside her, gentle and sweet. it was such a stark contrast to the cruel blade she held in her hand. It grinned in the afternoon light as she teased the tissue at Atom's neck.

I wanted to look away but I couldn't. Memorized, I watched as she dug in the blade, quick and smooth. The humming didn't cease. A stream of blood came from the wound. Her fingers continued to sweep through his hair, again and again, until Atom's head fell to the side. His pleas were answered.

I didn't move from my spot for a long time and neither did Clarke. We didn't say anything and I was glad for it. _You don't have the courage to make the hard decisions,_ our earlier confrontation over Jasper came back to me. _I do._

But I'd been wrong. I'd underestimated her. She may have been privileged, but she wasn't weak. And for the first time since coming down to Earth, I found myself respecting her.

When we returned to camp, I watched her retreat back into the dropship. Without looking at the man at my side, I spoke the words I never thought I'd say.

"Get Clarke whatever she needs."


	5. Against the Odds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madi spills the news to Bellamy about Clarke calling him on the radio every day. Takes place during season 5.

He couldn't stop staring at the screen.

Eyestrain had set in hours ago, but Bellamy didn't look away from the scale on the computer, still measuring a signal he kept hoping would fade, blink out like a dying star.

It didn't.

He ran a hand over his face, ignoring his burning eyes.

If you're caught, or if you fail to bring down the eye, no one is coming to save you.

Bellamy shook his head, wishing he could drown out the phantom echoes of gunfire.

He wasn't naive; he knew how much people could change over six years. But he'd just underestimated the extent of that change, and what kind of person it left him with after. Who Octavia was now . . . Bellamy didn't know how to grasp it. He wanted to fix things, but he knew he couldn't. This was different, a something not even he could protect her from.

Bellamy pressed a hand to his neck, massaging the sudden knot of tension that had appeared there.

The sudden cry of the metal door opening rewound that knot nice and tight; he didn't want to have to deal with Octavia again. Not now. He looked over, nearly prepared to tell her as much.

The sight of blonde hair and blue eyes made him relax, and he felt his tension ebb at the sight of Clarke, Madi close behind her.

"Want some company?" she asked, as the two came inside.

Bellamy tried for a smile, turning fully in his seat to face the pair. "Not sure I'm the best person to be around right now, but it's at your own risk."

From the corner of his eye, he caught Madi' s curious gaze.

Clarke stepped forward, gesturing with a tilt of her chin to the screen. A crease appeared between her brows, knowing exactly where his mind was at."How's that going?"

Bellamy shrugged, as if the signal weren't something worth staring at for as long as he had been, but he knew the look in his eyes gave him away. "It's going. Nothing's happened yet."

Clarke nodded, like she already knew. "Echo will do it," she said, her voice confident.

"I know." He grimaced. "I just hate that she has to."

Clarke pursed her lips, eyebrows still pulled together. "She'll make it back. One thing I know about Echo is that she's stubborn. Unless that's changed over the last six years?"

That coaxed the ghost of a smile out of him. "No. Some things just don't change."

Clarke smirked, her gaze fastened on his. "You're right, they don't." She took a step forward, glancing once at Madi. There was something else she had on her mind, too. "I was wondering, would you mind keeping an eye on Madi for me? There are some . . . things I need to go check on and I'm not comfortable with leaving her alone."

Bellamy's back stiffened. "Anything wrong?"

Clarke shook her head. "No. It's just . . . It's safer."

He looked at her intently. "The other night, you were about to tell me something. Something that sounded important."

She looked at him.

He waited.

Clarke glanced at the girl once more. Her expression would be resolved if not for that line between her brows. That always gave her away. "Madi is a nightblood."

Slowly, Bellamy nodded, already well aware. "I know, I thought you-"

"No," she cut him off. "Madi is a _natural_ nightblood." The weight in her words were tangible, As if she were entrusting him with something very precious. "That's how she survived the death wave."

Faint surprise jolted through Bellamy, but it was doused before it was barely lit. It made sense. And who were they to think Luna was the last of any nightblood anywhere? But then the rest of the pieces clicked into place, and suddenly Bellamy understood Clarke's caution.

Coldness seeped into Bellamy, and he looked back at Clarke, understanding her with perfect clarity. He knew what that was like, to do everything you could to protect someone. That had been his whole life, trying to protect a young girl who, at one point, used to be a lot like Madi.

It wasn't anymore.

"And you're worried that if anyone knew, some people might think Madi is the rightful commander?"

Clarke just looked at him, the answer clear in her eyes. "That's why you wanted to leave," he said.

She sighed. "Things have gotten . . . complicated, and since I don't want to leave Madi by herself, I'd rather have her here, with you."

Bellamy didn't need to consider anything. "Think you'll need help?"

"This is helping me," she said, her voice gentle. She looked sidelong at Madi. "And I think you're the only person I know who can understand how much that means."

Something tightened in Bellamy's chest. He knew the level of trust required to give the person you cared about the most into someone else's hands. Six years may have changed a lot, but a deep part of him was relieved to know they hadn't changed that much. "She'll be right here when you get back."

The corner of Clarke's lips lifted. "Thank you." She met Madi's intent gaze, the girl's own apprehension unhidden. "I'll be back soon."

Before she could open the door, Bellamy called to her. "Clarke."

She turned to him.

"If you run into trouble, you know where to find me."

That smile returned. "I know."

************

Once Clarke had gone, silence descended once more. Bellamy's focus quickly returned to the screen, but a piece of it drifted away, back to the girl who had wandered to the other side of the room, inspecting the miscellany of things littering the shelves. When Bellamy glanced over at her, he found her eyes already on him, big and curious and maybe even a little wary.

"Guess you and I haven't had the chance to talk much since we got back," he said, wanting to break the silence.

Madi shrugged. "People are busy in wars."

He glanced back to the screen before returning his gaze to her. "How are you doing with all this anyway?"

"I'm worried," she answered instantly, brutally honest. "About Clarke. I did something that she wishes I hadn't."

Bellamy dropped his hands onto his knees and turned towards her.

"I . . . kind of became a part of Wonkru."

He stared at her. Unbidden, an image came to him, of her standing in the arena, scared and defenseless. "You . . . You what? Madi, . . . I know Wonkru _is_ strong, but Clarke's right. If people find out about what you are and it reaches Octavia-"

"Octavia knows."

Madi had his undivided attention now. "What? Did she-?"

"I told her."

That silence descended for another moment, and Bellamy pulled back all the things he wanted to say, trying to understand. "Madi, _why_ would you tell her that?"

"I did it to protect Clarke!" she said fiercely. "If we'd gone to Shallow Valley like she'd wanted, Diyoza would've killed her and I couldn't let that happen."

At that, Bellamy tried to breathe past a fresh tightness in his chest. No more people. He wasn't losing anyone else, not Echo, not Raven, not Murphy and Emori. And not Clarke. Not again. "What did Octavia do?"

Madi ran a hand idly over a shelf. "She accepted me into the clan. I know Clarke thinks she's changed-"

"She has changed, Madi," Bellamy promised, his words breaking, as they did every time with that realization. He couldn't get used to it, and she was making it incredibly hard to accept it. "She is a not the person she was before."

" _You_ are. I mean, I know you've probably changed some, but Clarke still trusts you. She still needs you."

That almost made Bellamy smirk. "We're different people now. We need each other, but she doesn't need me like she needs you."

Madi's hand dropped from the shelf, those big eyes gentle yet penetrating. "That's not true. I know it. Like, whenever she radioed-"

"Radioed?"

"Yeah, when she tried to make contact with the Ring."

Bellamy blinked. Of course. It's something he would've done, if he'd been in her position. It frustrated him though, to wonder how close they'd come. What would it have been like to find out Clarke was alive years ago? "How long did she try?"

Suddenly Madi looked hesitant to reply, like the answer was obvious and she was only now realizing it wasn't her place to give it away, a trespasser over personal property. Part of her must have thought it was too late though, and in a voice she pitched lower, she murmured, "Every day."

Bellamy stared at her, as if unable to understand."Every . . . Every _day_?"

With wide eyes, Madi nodded. "Two thousand, one hundred and ninety-nine, to be exact."

A cold draft seemed to pass through him, but it was quickly chased away by the heat of his frustration. His guilt. All that time spent believing she was dead, while she sat miles below, talking to ghosts in the stars.

Bellamy shut his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his head. When he reopened them, Madi was watching him intently. She might've been young, but that didn't mean she didn't see as much as others did. Maybe it meant she saw more.

Her confession made Bellamy want to know about those six years. He felt Clarke's reservation when he'd mentioned it last, and he hadn't pried. But he'd known there was more, a lot more, and while he would wait to talk to her about it in detail, a piece of him just wanted a bit of insight into what that time had been like for Madi, and the woman he'd buried too soon.

"How long was it," he asked, leaning forward. "Before she found you?"

Madi glanced away with a shrug of her shoulders, seemingly glad for the subject change."A few months, I think. I remember feeling alone for a long time, but I can't remember much of it. Everything was . . . the same, until the end of the world just felt like one, endless day."

Bellamy's hands tightened, a hollow feeling settling on the inside as he tried to grasp what it would be like to be isolated for months. "You're strong, to survive something like that."

"We both are," she agreed.

Bellamy smiled. "How'd you two meet?"

Madi's expression suddenly turned sheepish, her cheeks warming to pink. "I . . . kind of caught her. In one of my bear traps."

He winced internally. "Traps?"

"Yeah. And then I stole her supplies. I warmed up to her, though. Now I can't really remember what it was like without her. Like she was always there."

Bellamy nodded, understanding. That was like the day Octavia had been born. It felt like his starting point after a long time being adrift. "What about Clarke? How was she when you found her?"

Again, Madi shrugged, but Bellamy caught a flash of something in her bright blue eyes. "Quiet. Sad. I don't remember much. We haven't talked about it."

Bellamy's brows furrowed. "Ever?"

Madi pressed her lips together. "She doesn't talk about before."

That quiet crept back into the room as he took her words in, wishing he could shrug off the guilt that had begun to weigh on his shoulders. Clarke wouldn't want that, he knew. It was just one of those times he wished, more than anything, that he could've changed something by not changing anything at all. Clarke staying here didn't only save their lives, but Madi's as well. But the memory of leaving her had haunted him for years after, and it frustrated him to know that while they were surviving off algae on the ark together, Clarke was alone. Not forever, but long enough for her to never want to talk about it.

"What did she radio us about? Was it just to check in?"

Madi shook her head. "Oh no. They were mostly updates. What we were doing. What was going on. Like when we would make trips to Polis, or when the solar panel of the rover broke. Twice. A few years ago, there was a really bad sandstorm, and Clarke almost got lost." She grimaced at the memory. "Some updates were more important than others. I think she did it to feel close to you. That it made her feel like you guys were still alive."

Bellamy swallowed, once again taken aback by the picture Madi painted, of a radio stashed between the two of them, full of messages that would never reach their destination. It reminded him of a time on the Ark, when, in Earth Skills, he'd first heard about messages contained in bottles. Their words were tediously scrawled and folded onto paper, only to be capped and cast into the sea where they waited, against the odds, to be found. He thought about that now, imagining not one bottle but over two thousand of them, drowning, unanswered, in the expanse of space.

And yet, Clarke had still hoped. Six years of silence couldn't take that from her.

"I bet she had a lot of questions for Raven. Probably gave Monty an earful about the algae," Bellamy said, half joking. "Harper would've liked to hear her medical advice. I'm sure she had a lot after . . . after."

Madi rested her forearm at the edge of the table he sat at, peering sidelong at him. "Yeah, she talked about them."

Bellamy glanced up at her. " _About_ them? I thought you said she talked _to_ them. To _us._ "

"Not to everyone," Madi said, her expression suddenly serious, her eyes so much like Octavia's had once been. "She talked to _you._ "

He stared at her, his thoughts silent. He struggled to understand, moments slipping by until finally, in a softer voice, he simply asked, "Why?"

"She says it's because it helped ground her, but I also think it's because you always understood each other. After everything with the grounders, and the Mountain Men, and ALIE . . . you were there for each other. And then after praimfaya, I think there were times when she needed you there, and the radio was as close as she could get."

At that, Bellamy understood. It had taken him months to adjust to the change on the Ring, not just to returning to space, but also to the absence of the person who seemed to understand him without words. He looked for that in other places, but it had taken a long time to find again. And even then, it wasn't the same. There were no wars on the Ring. No only choices to decide between. Something happened to those who stood side by side through all that. It built a trust between them, a deep understanding of the heart scars they were left with in the aftermath, and when one person was lost, it was felt deeply by the other.

"I wish I could've answered her," he said simply, his words feeling insufficient. He wished he could've heard her at all.

"It's okay," said Madi. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and gave him a small smile. "You're here now. That's all that matters."


	6. The Heart and the Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the events of 6x2.

The moment he looked up at her, Clarke saw the horror in his eyes, too big to hold hers for long.

She didn't say anything. There wasn't enough time, and maybe for once, Clarke was grateful. She looked away from him, from the wound his hand still gingerly covered, to the others. To her Mom, to Raven, asking about Shaw, to Murphy who was still-

Clarke pulled herself up. "What's wrong with him?"

Abby fell in line instantly, dropping to her knees. She grabbed Murphy's hand.

"His pulse is weak."

Clarke's heart pounded. _"People die when they're around you. They die trying to save you."_

She ground her teeth, blinking her eyes as if she could blink away the words. "What is this?" she asked, looking over to the woman she didn't recognize. But before she could respond, a different sound punctuated the stillness from behind them. First, the distant hum of voices.

And then-

_Laughter._

*************

Sitting in the small room, waiting, Clarke felt on edge, her thoughts a whirlwind. The new grounders had taken Murphy elsewhere, leaving her, Bellamy, and Raven in the children's classroom. The others had been brought in for questioning, but Clarke wasn't sure how much there was to tell that wasn't a repeat of these grounders' own history.

Clarke turned her attention to the window she couldn't see out of. Despite the bright colors, a heaviness filled the room. It weighed Raven's shoulders down, and hollowed Bellamy's eyes with guilt. Clarke had wanted to say something, but was still searching for the right moment he'd accept her input. As for Raven, Clarke didn't know what to say that would be heard. Lately her words had been a fire sparking a fuse in Raven. Her silence was the only consolation she could think to give.

But it left her alone, with the storm of her own thoughts that juxtaposed the smothering quiet. She tried to turn her focus on strategizing. On what to do if things turned. Now, though, there was nothing to fill the space. Nothing but everything she didn't want. If only memories were as easy to bury as the dead.

_"Madi is safer without you. If you're gone, she can't die trying to save you."_

Clarke looked down and moved away from the window.

A quiet intake of breath caught her attention and she glanced over to where Bellamy sat, his injured leg outstretched. She could see the bandage wrapping his injury was

beginning to to soak through. Discarding the pit that formed in her stomach, Clarke walked over to him. His gaze met hers, and, to her surprise, held them.

"Here," she said, pulling a loose piece of cloth from the only bag they'd been left with. It was as good a tourniquet as any.

Bellamy held out a hand, but Clarke dismissed him. "It's okay, I've got it."

As gently as she could, Clarke began untying the old bandage, his blood staining her fingers.

"People die when I'm in charge, isn't that what you said?"

"Keep pressure on it," she said, before loosening the soiled bandage and pulling it off.

She could feel Bellamy's gaze, whether on her face or neck, she couldn't tell. "Murphy will be fine," she said, looking at him. "Cockroach, remember?"

The weight Bellamy's eyes reflected back stung, but he gave a weak nod. "How about you?"

Clarke tried for a smile. "I'm okay."

His grim look told her he didn't believe it. "Clarke, everything that I said-"

"It's okay, Bellamy." She looked back down at her hands, winding the fresh bandage around his cut.

"It wasn't true. That's not . . . That wasn't me."

Clarke understood. "I know it wasn't you." But she remembered how it was for her, and how she'd felt. And those feelings had been very real.

_"I don't need you anymore."_

"Clarke."

She looked up at him, his gaze searching, pleading, struggling for the right words.

She tried for that smile once again. "Keep that pressure until I tie this."

"I cut you."

Clarke returned her gaze to him, confused. "What?"

But he wasn't looking at her. Instead, his attention dropped to the space beneath her jaw. "I don't remember that."

Clarke's chest tightened. "That's because it wasn't from you."

His eyebrows knitted in confusion. "Jackson?"

She pulled the bandage into a knot. "Let's just say my time with the toxin was more self-focused."

Clarke looked up at him, hoping he could read the message in her eyes. _I'm okay,_ she wanted it to read. _Even if I don't feel that way yet._ It was a start.

The concern didn't leave his features. "The things I said," he repeated, "I didn't mean them."

Clarke sighed and pulled back, resting her hands on her knees. She tried not to study the smears of red on them, and instead fixed her eyes on his. "It's okay if you did, Bellamy. I know what I did to you, and I wish I could change it, but I can't, and i have to live with the things I've done. I didn't expect a simple talk to smooth everything over as if none of that happened."

Bellamy didn't look away. "Well, it has been 100 years."

She smirked half-heartedly. "But it doesn't feel that way."

"No. It doesn't."

She looked away, glancing back down at his clean bandage. "That should last you until we hear something of Murphy."

With pursed lips and an expression that still looked troubled, Bellamy nodded.

"Thanks."

Clarke smiled and began to move away.

"And Clarke?"

She looked back over to him.

"I do still need you. I would've killed Murphy if you hadn't stopped me. We all still need you."

The fist in her chest loosened some. "The heart and the head," she murmured fondly.

The ghost of a smile touched his lips. "The heart and the head."


	7. When the Birds Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a one-shot I wrote before the end of season 5. I wanted to explore what it could potentially look like to witness Bellamy lose Octavia.

He wished he'd never come to the ground.

That was his only clear thought, spiraling around the mayhem of silence in his head, sawing through his teeth as an invisible weight bore down on his chest, cracking his ribs one by one.

His eyes were closed shut-Bellamy didn't want to open them. Didn't want to see, because once he did, that was it. There was no unseeing it. No rewinding time. No finding his way back to the stars.

He ground his teeth, hands clenched so hard they shook. The last time Bellamy was this terrified was when he was a boy, being handed something small and precious, with big, pure blue eyes and warm hands that wrapped themselves around his fingers.

But that was a better day. That was the day his life began.

Today . . . too many things had ended.

If only he hadn't come to the ground.

Slowly he dragged in a deep breath.

"Bellamy?"

_"Bellamy?" came her hushed whisper from between the metal slat, tiny fingers poking through the floor. "Can you tell me a story?"_

_Bellamy was pulling back the steel piece before she could finish her question. Resting on his stomach against the floor, he peered over into the small wedge of space where a little form huddled, hopeful eyes peering at him, his own pieces of sky._

_"Which one, O?"_

_She twirled a strand of dark hair. "Perseus."_

"Bellamy."

He opened his eyes.

So many things had changed. The world had ended, but nothing had ever felt so out of place until this moment, and no matter how hard Bellamy had tried, he couldn't put it back together.

He met flat eyes, like the color they used to be had faded, dulled to a cool steel. It was too different. Too wrong.

Then Bellamy's gaze drifted to the broken woman at his feet, brown hair shielding her face.

"You should've let her go when I offered, Bellamy. Traitors aren't welcome here."

The red in Bellamy's vision matched the red on the ground. He was unable to look away. Once again afraid to.

"What have you become, Octavia?" he asked quietly, his voice oddly even, like a part of him knew what the rest refused to accept.

But it was enough to make him finally see.

"Strong," she said, her footsteps silent over the grass. "United. You're looking for someone who doesn't exist anymore, Bel. Or haven't you realized that yet?"

A silent shudder ran through him, as he looked up. "I have now."

And he did.

If only they'd never come to the ground.

She raised a brow. "Then you know what it is I want."

Coldness seeped into Bellamy, the weight in his chest ripping through. "I have a very good idea."

Octavia took a step closer, eyes piercing. "But I know you'd die before you told me where she is."

"At least I haven't changed that much."

That raised a fire in her eyes. "You can't talk as if you know what it was like. You weren't here."

"No," he agreed. "Maybe if I had been, things would be different. Maybe you would be different."

Octavia glanced toward the treeline. "We'll never know, will we?"

Bellamy looked down, and the sight of red filled his vision again. "Do you ever wonder . . .?"

"Wonder what?"

Bellamy raised his eyes back to Octavia. "What they would say, if they could see us now? Mom . . . Lincoln?"

His words were ice over the fire in her eyes, and Bellamy barely had time to blink before the sound of steel against steel cried, and Octavia was brandishing a sword. "Enough of this," she hissed. "I'll find her myself."

Deftly, Bellamy moved in front of her.

His actions were met with subtle surprise, indicated only by the rising of Octavia's brows. They quickly narrowed. "Get out of my way, Bellamy."

"You know I can't do that."

Her eyes flashed like a whip. With a flick of her wrist, she raised the sword. "Do you think that just because you're my _brother_ , it makes you immune to this?"

"No. When you . . . killed Echo," he flinched at the words, "you showed me that. If you cared about me at all, you wouldn't have touched her." He didn't look down again. "Seems you and Pike have more in common than you thought."

The barb found its mark, those eyes no longer pieces of sky but chips of ice. "If you ever mention him to me again, I'll-"

"What, you'll kill me?" Bellamy spread his arms wide. "So? An enemy of Wonkru is your enemy, right? Then what are you waiting for?"

"Just tell me where the girl is, Bellamy!"

"You can't even see it, can you?" He practically shouted. "You're going after a child, O! Tell me how that makes you any different from Jaha floating our mother, or from Pike killing Lincoln? Tell me how that doesn't make you worse than the both of them?"

He didn't feel it. The swipe was a brush, a hiss of air across his chin, just shallow enough to make blood run. Only moments later did he register the swift fire of pain trailing beneath his ear.

Across from him, the tip of Octavia's sword glimmered scarlet.

"I don't want to do this, Bellamy," she said. "But I will. If I have to." Her voice didn't waver, but there was a flash of something else there, something that was almost pleading. "You don't know half the things I've done."

Bellamy didn't wipe his neck. He could only stare at her, his emotions a swarm. "I believe it."

His words seemed to dig deep, and a flash of uncertainty crossed her face, a beat of visible, real hurt lying fractured in those eyes. Maybe there was even some guilt. Suddenly she looked like the young girl he remembered, and in that moment, Bellamy felt her within reach, her small hands just beyond his grasp.

Then the comm at his waist crackled.

_"Bellamy, come in. Madi's disappeared in the woods, just south of the field. We need an update on Octavia, now-"_

And those hands slipped away.

Octavia's gaze drifted beyond Bellamy.

The weight in his chest had become a boulder. He could barely breathe.

Silence filled the space, thick and cloying, a wire being pulled taut, until Octavia's eyes met Bellamy's once more.

And then she moved.

In a blur of motion, Octavia dodged Bellamy, her lithe feet carrying her deftly across the expanse of grass. Evening was falling, casting long shadows against the field, reaching like dark fingers.

Bellamy didn't think; he just ran. "Octavia!"

She was a shadow in front of him, dipping in and out of his line of sight.

Bellamy forced his legs faster, his heart slamming against the broken pieces inside of him. This wasn't happening. He wouldn't _let_ it happen.

"Octavia!"

There.

Jumping over the fallen trunk of a tree, Bellamy split to the left before taking a sharp right. He saw a head of dark hair before he collided with her.

Pain lit his back as he slammed into the ground and rolled, momentarily stunned. His temples pounded, eyes stinging. He lifted his head from where he was lying strewn on the ground.

Steel eyes were already on him, and he staggered to his feet, hands raised out as if to a wild animal. "I can't let you do this, O."

She pulled herself to a crouch, appraising him. "Want to fight me for real this time, big brother?"

He shook his head. "I never wanted to fight you."

"Well, we don't always get what we want."

Bellamy stared. He couldn't seem to stop doing that, too bewildered, too horrified at what had become of his little sister. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. But this isn't the way. Can't you understand that? You're hunting _a child,_ O. A child who's done nothing but survived."

" _How_ she survived," Octavia hissed, "Is what's tearing us apart. I don't want this anymore than you do, but it's still a problem I have to deal with."

"By _killing_ her?"

Her expression darkened. "By eliminating the source of our dissension."

Bellamy could barely comprehend what he was hearing. "Are you that thirsty for power?"

"It's not about power, it's about survival. A child can't lead us, Bel, and the longer she lives, the more defactors we'll have. It's one life for hundreds."

"And you think that justifies it?" He couldn't keep the bite out of his own voice.

"Justice has nothing to do with any this. If it did, do you really think there would be eight hundred of us alive right now?" She looked at him from under thick lashes, slashing deep shadows across sharp cheekbones. "You'd have been fortunate to find anyone in that bunker."

Bellamy pursed his lips. "You aren't in the bunker anymore, O."

"And you're not on the Ring. Or was six years all it took you for you to forget the cost of survival?"

Bellamy ignored the bite of her words. "You can make whatever excuse you want; I won't let you near, Madi. I can't let you do that to yourself."

Octavia must have lost her hold on the sword because this time she withdrew a different weapon, this one smaller. She fiddled with the short blade's tip, glancing between the gleaming edge and him. "This isn't something you can save me from, big brother."

"You're right." His voice broke, the realization haunting, the weight crushing. "I can't."

Lithe as a lion, she stepped forward, drawing a quick uppercut. Bellamy ducked just in time, snatching up a loose branch and blocking her next blow. With him pinned, Octavia tried to move around him, but Bellamy managed to turn and knock her feet out from under her.

It was a short reprieve.

In one fluid motion, the both of them were back on their feet, Octavia watching him warily. "Please, Bellamy," she said, her voice suddenly soft, maybe even a little broken. "Don't make me do this."

Bellamy swallowed. Shut his eyes for a moment as if to block out the sight of her. "I'm not. You are."

She pulled back a step, putting more space between them. But Bellamy could practically hear her thoughts, and when Octavia tried once more to split away and around, deeper across the field, Bellamy was ready. Blocking her path once more, Bellamy countered with an elbow to her ribs. She maneuvered before she could receive the full blow, and his arm glanced off her hip. She spun around and brought the small blade across his calf.

At first, Bellamy didn't register the pain. Then heat licked up his leg, coaxing a hiss of breath from him. It drew his attention just enough for Octavia to get ahead once more.

Ignoring the sting, Bellamy went after her, sweat sliding down his neck, blood racing through his veins. _No._ The thought was a scream inside him, chasing away the pain, spurring him on. He wouldn't let her do this. He would not.

She was more nimble, but he was faster, and the moment he was close enough, Bellamy reached for her, latching onto the elbow she planned to have connect with his face.

He yanked her back so hard, she stumbled.

Octavia's quick breaths coalesced into a short scream of frustration.

Bellamy bit back the sudden rush of pain as he faced her. "If you want to get past me," he said, "you're gonna have to kill me, O."

The muscles in her jaw flexed, and she closed her eyes. Bellamy could see her hands were trembling. A moment passed until her eyes opened and she leveled them at him. They glistened with unshed tears. "I'll try to make it quick, big brother."

Steel flashed.

Bellamy fell back as the blade sliced the air in front of his chest in ribbons. He retracted quickly, letting all the instincts and training he learned on the Ring have their way. Muscle memory was a song in his blood, planting his feet firm, discerning Octavia's moves before she made them.

When she brought the blade across again, Bellamy dropped to his knees, kicking out to her with a leg. The swipe met nothing, and Bellamy felt a force slam into his shoulder. It was followed by a bite of fire, searing across his back.

Before Octavia could get in another hit, Bellamy flipped onto his stomach and pulled back, the blade hissing through the air where his head had just been.

On his knees, Bellamy's hand found a loose root and he yanked it up, letting it be the buffer between him and Octavia's advance. He let her weapon dig into the soft wood before he yanked it away and moved in closer in an attempt to disarm her.

It didn't work.

With one blow to his arm, he dropped his only defense, and Octavia suddenly stood close by him, his wrist secured in her hand, twisted around his back. Bellamy gasped as pain danced up his spine.

"Don't think you'll get me that easy," she murmured, her lips close to his ear. "I'm not weakened by venom this time."

Bellamy gritted his teeth, and reared his head back.

He felt the impact as much as he heard it. Bone hit bone, and Octavia let out a sound of surprise as Bellamy spun around, eyes meeting hers just as she fell to the ground, stunned by the blow.

Bitterness filled him, and he hesitated, torn between hoping she was okay and dreading it.

"O?"

Silence.

Anger bubbled inside, as the familiar tang of worry spread through his chest. How could he look at the sister who had become a murderer, and still see a little girl, afraid of the dark?

_"O?"_

Slowly, Bellamy approached her still form, trying to maintain a smart distance, as if his sister were a danger. But she was. The little girl he once had to hum lullabies to in order to keep her from crying beneath the floor had become someone capable of hurting innocent people. The reality of that turned his world on its axis. It pulled the very stars to the ground.

Bellamy dropped to a knee, letting his hand find Octavia's shoulder. "Octavia?"

It happened fast.

One moment he was leaning over her, and the next, Bellamy was being slammed into the ground, looking up and into grey eyes.

For a moment there was no air to pull in, all traces of it shoved out of him the second his back met the dirt.

Something hard bit into his neck, and Bellamy caught a flash of white. The root.

He was pinned.

The branch dug into the soft skin beneath his jaw, cutting into his airway. He gasped like a fish out of water, his chest burning.

Octavia stood above, face hard, eyes fastened on his. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, the regret, the pain, suddenly very raw, and very real. "I'm sorry, Bel."

He tried to pull in air, searching for something he couldn't get. "If I see Mom,-" he rasped, "I'll tell her- you became someone bet-better than this."

Octavia sucked in a sharp breath, as if she were the one without air.

Rustling drew both of their attention, and a moment later- came the sound of footsteps hushing across the forest floor.

"Don't do it, Octavia."

Ice. at the sound of her familiar, young voice, Bellamy's racing blood froze over. The pain vanished. The scream of _no_ became a deafening roar, so loud he was sure anyone could hear it.

"Madi," he coughed, straining his neck up to see her.

"What are you doing?"

The branch against his throat relaxed, and Bellamy had enough room to turn his head and glimpse the young girl inching toward them, dark braids swinging.

She wasn't looking at him but at Octavia, her face pale, expression resolved. "I won't let you kill Bellamy because of me."

"Madi." Bellamy felt as though he were still choking. Why had the others let her run off? Where was Clarke?

He looked from her to Octavia, coaxing his sister's attention back to him. "O," he stared at her wide-eyed, an animal caught in a trap. "O, please!"

_"Please, O! You can do it!" His cheer was soft, whispered in the safety of the small apartment room, pillows piled around the front door to muffle any sound. His young hands each grasped two smaller ones, tiny fingers lost in his. "Just one step. You can do it."_

_Blue eyes blinked up at him from under a thick curtain of dark hair, a questioning look on the little girl's face._

_Bellamy moved his hands up and down, as if that would make her come to him. "C'mon. One step. It would make Mom happy."_

_Her eyes dropped to the floor._

_She looked back to her brother._

_"Don't worry," he whispered. "You won't fall. I've got you, O."_

_She pursed her lips. Her brows furrowed, as if deep in concentration, and with great care, she lifted one small foot from the floor._

"O," Her name was a beg, everything Bellamy wanted, everything he knew, folding in around him, catching fire. His very own apocalypse. It was as if he saw Octavia standing at the edge of a cliff, arms spread wide, ready to jump.

"O," He gave a small shake of his head. _"Don't."_

Her sharp eyes nearly softened. "Tell Clarke I'm sorry."

The biting pressure of the root disappeared. Head swimming, Bellamy watched Octavia move away from him and toward Madi, the small blade grinning from her right hand.

_"Octavia, NO!"_

Time stopped.

For this one, single moment, the very air seemed to hold its breath as Bellamy staggered to his feet and launched himself forward. He caught Madi's sapphire eyes, loud with fear, and all he could think was _not her_ , not a child, not someone who reminded him so much of the young girl his sister used to be.

Octavia's gaze flashed to his a moment before he slammed into her, his arms encircling her waist as his momentum shoved her as far as possible. Even when they hit the ground, Bellamy didn't let go. Something nicked his shoulder. Stones, big and small, bit into his back, his legs. One glanced off his temple, and blackness seeped into his vision.

But he still didn't let go.

"Mad-Madi-" he could barely hear his own voice over the cacophony of ringing in his ears. "Madi, go!" he hoped the words were a shout and not just a thought. "Get out of here! Get to Clarke!"

Nothing. Bellamy forced his eyes open. When had he closed them?

"Bellamy."

His head snapped up, eyes falling to the small figure partially hidden with shadows as orange stained the sky behind her. She sounded terrified.

Bellamy blinked. "Madi, please. You-"

A sharp gasp cut him off.

With agonizing slowness, the world seemed to return to him with crystal clarity. He was aware of the pain in his body. Of the scream of his heartbeat, shuddering against his sternum. Of the raucous worry to keep a child's blood off his sister's hands.

Bellamy shook his head, his thoughts spinning, his breath shallow. Something slick coated his palms, slipping between his fingers, and he looked down to find them bright as rubies in the light of the dying sun.

Numbness swept over him as he looked from his hands to the woman lying next to him, hand splayed on the ground. Empty.

Pulling himself up, he looked over.

And suddenly, just like that, Bellamy couldn't feel anything.

Not the pain in his body. Not the scream of his heartbeat. Not the worry of a little girl. Nothing. Because in the span of a single moment, his entire world had suddenly shrunk to a picture of Octavia lying in the grass, her small blade sheathed in her chest.

_She covered her screams with a rag, but it wasn't enough for Bellamy; he still heard it all. He had to be very close, mindful of any footsteps on the other side of the door as he held Mom's hand, letting her squeeze his fingers so hard he thought that she would break them._

_"Almost," she whispered, the word followed by another scream._

_It was the worst one yet, and Bellamy shut his eyes because he couldn't plug his ears._

_There was an odd, wet sound, and suddenly Mom let out a relieved breath._

_Then the crying started._

_Bellamy had already barricaded the front door with all their pillows, but the sound of such a small, high-pitched wail pulled his nerves taught and pried his eyes wide open. He looked to see Mom wrapping something small and pink up in a blanket, the act quickly quieting the cries._

_"Bellamy," she murmured, holding the bundle close. "Say hello to your sister." In the next moment, Mom had handed him the bundle, and Bellamy suddenly found himself looking down into a tiny face, a pair of big blue eyes looking up at him._

_He stared, utterly captivated by this tiny life, so precious in his arms. "Wow," he breathed quietly, chancing a quick glance at Mom before returning them to the baby he cradled. "What are you going to call her?"_

_A quiet exhale. "Why don't you choose it?"_

_That caught him by surprise. "Me?"_

_"I don't see why not. She's your sister, your responsibility."_

_Bellamy let out a long breath. "Okay," he murmured, thinking. It seemed an important decision. A lifelong one. "Octavia," he said quietly, and the moment he spoke it, he knew it was right, a perfect fit._

_He glanced sideways at Mom, finding an approving smile on her lips. "I like it."_

_Bellamy grinned, and looked back into the tiny face of his little sister. "Hi, Octavia. O. I'm your big brother," he whispered to her, and when she started to fuss again, he reached for her hand, letting her tiny fingers wrap around one of his. "Shh, it's okay. I won't let anything bad happen to you, Octavia. I promise."_

The sight was so wrong it was almost strange, and Bellamy raised a hand over his sister, suddenly petrified to touch her. "No," he mumbled, half of him understanding what the rest couldn't. He shook his head, and brushed dark hair away from her face. "Octavia?"

Her eyes found his, and another gasp racked her chest.

All of him understood then.

"No," he said again, louder. "No. Octavia, hold on. You'll be fine. Just keep looking at me."

"Bel." Her breath turned to a rasp, and she reached a hand to him.

He took it instantly, red fingers wrapping around hers. How many times had he held this hand?

He used it to coax her arm around his neck. "Hold on. I'll get you back to the others. Abby can help you." He moved her onto his lap, ready to hoist her up.

Her sudden cry of pain stopped him. _"No,"_ she ground. An order.

Bellamy's hold on her tightened. "You don't know what you're saying. It'll be fine. _You_ will be fine." He looked up to the place where Madi had been. She was still there, standing a little closer, her expression unreadable in the failing light. "Madi, I need you to go and tell Abby. Tell her-"

"Bellamy."

It was the gentleness in her voice that caught his attention more than anything. Or maybe it was resignation. "You can't- can't fix this."

"Yes, I can." Because he had to. He wouldn't lose her. He couldn't. Not like this. Never like this.

She pulled her arm from his neck, until her hand found his cheek. "Tell me a st-story, Bel."

Bellamy shook his head. He glanced over to where Madi had disappeared. He didn't want to look down. Didn't want to face what was happening, because he couldn't. A world without Octavia was a world he didn't want to be a part of, even after everything.

"Bel."

He resisted the urge to close his eyes, instead settling them on hers. "Do you remember Prometheus?" he asked, his voice thick, as if he were choking again.

"You made him pretty unfor-unforgettable."

Bellamy nodded. "He was smart, like you. And stubborn. He never knew when to give up."

"That's what you said last time," she gasped. "You like comp-paring me to him."

"You have a lot in common."

"Even the ending?"

Bellamy paused, his hands trembling around her. He swiped a stray hair behind her ear. "It's just a story, O. It's not real."

Octavia gave him a pained expression, gasps racking her slim frame. She squeezed her eyes shut. "This is."

"Madi's getting Abby," Bellamy murmured, shoving her words away. "They'll be here soon. Just keep focusing on me."

A sad look crossed her face, her cheeks pale. Another shudder stole her breath, and her hand dropped from his face and tightened into a pained fist against his chest. "Can't. We're -we're out of time, big brother."

Bellamy was already shaking his head, casting a desperate look to the other side of the field, looking for something, anything to help. He pulled Octavia closer, until they were cocooned in their own pocket of space. "No. You're gonna be fine. Just hold on a little longer."

"Bell-amy."

He shook his head.

"Bellamy, look at m-me."

Slowly, he pulled away enough to look into her face. Her eyes searched him, as if taking him all in, memorizing everything. Then her eyes drifted from his, and settled on the fading sun, trailing purple in its wake.

"Bel."

Bellamy wrapped his hand around hers and brought it back to his face. "I'm here, O."

A light seemed to come on in her eyes, warming the cool steel to a vibrant blue. "Bel, . . ."

And then, something he hadn't seen in a long time; Octavia's smile. Real. Genuine. Young.

"I see- I see him, Bel."

Bellamy glanced in the direction she was looking, just in time to catch a flash of black as two birds played against a purple sky.

"What, O?" he asked, looking back to her.

She opened her mouth and pulled in a shallow breath. Bellamy clung to her and waited for it to pass.

It didn't.

Bellamy looked at her with unseeing eyes, trying to understand. "O?"

Silence.

"Octavia?"

The shaking in his hands grew worse, and suddenly the truth hit him, not in a single blow, but slowly, in one tiny piece that happened to hold his world.

His sister was gone.

Either Bellamy had become deaf to the noise inside him, or the whole world had simply turned off, because there was only silence as he pulled his sister closer, resting his forehead against hers. He rocked gently, still struggling to understand as a scream welled up on the inside of him.

_Octavia is gone._

_Octavia is dead._

_I'm responsible._

_"I won't let anything bad happen to you, Octavia. I promise."_

And suddenly that scream tore from him, crushing the silence into a million, brilliant pieces. The sound echoed across the field and into the trees. It seemed to carry to the very sky, and chase those birds away.


	8. Happy Endings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a one shot chronicling what it would look like for Bellamy and Clarke to have a daughter. Hypothetical scenario a dear friend asked me to try out. (Shout out to you, Jessie!) So here it goes. (side note: I didn't include any scenes with Octavia because I wasn't really feeling it but I might later.) I've never written scenes like this before (like hands down this is the fluffiest Bellarke story I've ever done so I would love to hear your thoughts!

"I'm scared, Clarke," Bellamy murmurs one night in their cabin, the words crowding the space between them.

Clarke stares at him in surprise. Those words were so rare with him, as fleeting as shooting stars. "Of what, Bellamy?"

He peers down into the perfect face of the tiny girl he holds, her lashes long enough to cast their own shadow. "Of this," he says quietly. "I'm going to be scared of this . . . tiny little person for the rest of my life because I can't imagine what it would be like to lose her." He traces a line down her small nose. "I'm scared about what she'll get into when she's two. I'm scared about how I'll teach her how to swim, because I'm not a great swimmer myself. I'm scared when she's able to run, if she'll get lost." He groans. "I'm terrified when she dates, and that I'll accidentally kill him."

Clarke lets out a gentle laugh. "You won't kill him, Bellamy."

Bellamy gives her an unconvincing look. "I'm serious."

"I am too." Clarke leans her head against Bellamy's shoulder. She touches one of Aquila's tiny fingers. "She's perfect. And you . . . try not to worry so much."

He makes a sound of exasperation. "Telling me not to breathe would be easier."

Clarke smiles, knowing he can't see it. She lifts her eyes from Aquila's face to his profile, studying it like she would a drawing. "I've never seen you this dramatic before."

He turns his head towards her in surprise, only stopping when his cheek brushes the tip of her nose. "Dramatic? I'm not dramatic. These are legitimate fears, Clarke."

Clarke's smile widens. "Uh-huh. Totally legitimate."

"So what, are you telling me you're _not_ afraid?" He asks, picking up one of Aquila's hands with an index finger. He waits until her little ones fold around his, gripping as tight as they can.

Clarke kisses his shoulder. "No, I'm saying we don't have to try and stuff a lifetime of it into one day. This little girl is a survivor, Bellamy. Just like her father."

She feels some of the tension leave him, diffused by her words. "And her mom," he says. Suddenly he laughs, a short puff of air that makes Aquila's free hand flutter once. "The famous Blake-Griffin." He chuckles. "Our reputations alone will be enough to scare people off, I guess. Long before we get there, anyway."

Clarke nods. "No one will be stupid enough to mess with her."

Bellamy sighs contentedly. "I wonder what she'll be like. Will she want to work as a medic, healing wounds? Will she be an artist, like you?"

"Or stubborn, like you?"

He leans his head against hers. "Hey, we're both stubborn." Clarke feels him shrug. "I hope she has your brain," he mumbles. "Like I really hope that. I've made too many dumb decisions."

Clarke purses her lips. "I hope she has your heart." She tilts her chin up until she can look into his eyes, big and brown and perfect like their daughter's.

"The head and the heart," Bellamy murmurs. He smiles, his attention dropping from her gaze to her lips. "I like the sound of that."

***************

"C'mon, you can do it. _'Ma-di.'_ Madi."

The toddler stares at the girl blankly, tiny fingers crammed into a tiny mouth. She gurgles.

Madi tosses her hands up, exasperated. "What does it take to get her to say one simple word?" She asks no one in particular.

"At the rate you've been teaching her, I'd be surprised if she doesn't have it down by the end of the day," Clarke says from her place at the table. Across from her sits a man, his elbow propped over the counter. He lets out a sound of discomfort as Clarke cleans an ugly wound that runs the length of his forearm.

Madi sweeps the little girl from her makeshift carrier and bounces her on her hip. "This child will know how to say my name if it's the last thing I do."

Clarke smiles without looking up. "You don't have to convince me."

Madi shakes her head at the little girl. "I'm pretty much your big sister, you know," she tells her. "I'm gonna be the one to teach you some pretty important things. Least you can do is say my name. _Ma-di."_

Aquila purses her tiny lips. She forces air out so fast that she spits in the older girl's eye.

"O-kay," says Madi slowly, blinking out the saliva. "A little on the forceful side, but maybe that's a start?"

From the table, Clarke laughs.

"Ow!" the man hisses.

"Sorry."

************

"Now, I know this is a lot to remember, but the really important bit is that if you want a high explosive, carbon and hydrogen are your friend. That's _extra_ important, you copy?"

Aquila looks up from her spot on Raven's lap, her dark eyes big with curiosity. They sit at a table, the two-year-old balanced on Raven's knee; standing has become too hard, adding pain to her lower back and more pressure to her bad leg. If Raven drops one of the utensils she holds, there is no bending around her bloated stomach. She will not get it back.

"Now that we have that detail out of the way, we get to talk about the fun stuff." She touches Aquila's nose. "The stuff that goes 'boom.'" Raven claps her hands together once to demonstrate. "Can you say that?"

Aquila smiles. "B-oo."

Raven shrugs. "Close enough. Now, none of this is very complicated. I mean, if you take out the empirical formulas, making things go boom is easy. You could do it with a toaster. An explosion is essentially just a lot of energy released very quickly into a small space . . . kind of." She sighs, folding up a piece of cloth with her free hand.

"What are you doing?"

Alarm shoots up Raven's spine. She looks towards the entrance to her tent to find Clarke there, one eyebrow hitched up high as she takes in the scene before her.

Raven gives a small, nonchalant smile. "Nothing. Just . . . teaching the kids some chemistry."

Clarke nods once, her eyes narrowed slightly. "Mm-hmm." She sidles over to the table, taking note of the miscellaneous contents strewn across it. "What were you teaching on?"

Raven tickles Aquila until the little girl lets out a peal of laughter. "Formulas."

"For?"

Aquila grins up at Clarke and claps her hands together. "Bo-om," she says.

Raven's smile turns into a grimace. "Little traitor," she mutters under her breath.

Clarke smiles as she scoops her daughter up from her perch on Raven's knee. Raven, I know you. And I told you to take it easy. Not to teach a toddler how to build explosives."

"They weren't high explosives. It's a basic mechanical bomb." She looks at Aquila. "We only brushed over the big ones."

Clarke appraises her. "I think I know the answer, but I'm going to ask anyway. Wouldn't it be better to make something non-incendiary while pregnant?"

Raven rolls her eyes. "Please. This kid's gonna have to learn to live on the edge. Besides, I know when chemistry gets dangerous." She gestures to the equipment before her. "And this is, well, pardon my pun, but baby stuff."

Clarke smirks at her friend. Explosives or no explosives, she knows Raven would trade her own life before endangering the lives of their children.

Still. "Maybe you could work on an alarm system. Or better yet, a personal heating system."

Raven's already pulled herself to her feet, ponytail swinging. "No can do, Mama Griffin. I'm nearly done with my Ferrocerium rod and I'm not about to stop now."

"'Ferrocerium rod'," Clarke tries, the word rolling uncomfortably off her tongue. "That sounds like a complicated subject for the unborn."

"It's never too early to start teaching." Raven says, smiling at her stomach. "And you know no lesson is complete without pyrotechnics."

************

He is learning patience today. In fact, he has been learning patience the last three years, ever since Bellamy set a small warm bundle in his arms and called him "Uncle Murphy."

Murphy grimaces. Manipulation started young.

Now that three year old trots behind him like a puppy, her eyes just as big as the day she was born. She takes big steps, looking at her feet. Impressed, he's just about to comment on her deft navigational skills, when she suddenly slips, her tiny hand slamming against a small rock.

Aquila looks up at him, her brows knitting together with worry.

Dread shoots through him. For a moment, he doesn't know whose eyes are bigger. He's known the kid long enough to tell when she's about to cry.

"No, no, no." He nearly trips himself in his haste to get to her and kneels down, Bellamy's face flashing through his mind,. "Shh, you're okay. Don't let a stupid rock make you cry."

She whimpers, the sound cutting.

Guilt slams into him and he scrounges for something. Anything. Hugs of comfort are still awkward. "Hey," he says after a moment of thought. "Want to see a magic trick? Want me to make that stupid rock disappear?"

With wobbly lips, Aquila nods.

Murphy lets out a breath and sweeps up the rock, about the size of his palm. "Now, to make a rock disappear, we have to . . . grip it tight. Okay? And we have to . . . blow on it," he says lamely.

The little girl does, exerting a surprising amount of force that leaves Murphy's hands slick with spit.

"Good," Murphy gives her a lukewarm praise, scrunching his nose. "Now, it only works if you squeeze your eyes shut and say the magic words." He thinks of the words. "Bye-bye, stupid rock." He cringes internally, but Aquila isn't fazed. She closes her eyes and mutters, "Bye-bye, stupid rock."

By the time she finishes, Murphy has already hurled the rock over his shoulder.

He hears the distant thump of contact, followed by an audible shout.

Murphy looks back at Aquila. Is it necessary to look indifferent to a three-year-old? He spreads his palms wide to show her they're empty. "Look! The rock is gone!"

And to his utter amazement, the little girl looks up at him, eyes wide with shock.

 _She bought it,_ he thinks, a little surprised. How terrifyingly trusting could a kid be?

"It's gone!" Aquila squeals, delighted. She claps her hands as though Murphy has just accomplished something great. He's equally surprised to find himself actually feeling a sense of accomplishment and takes a half-hearted bow. "Thank you, thank you."

Her attention suddenly shifts to the area around them, and she surveys it carefully. "What else can you make dis-pear?" she asks, curiosity crowding her eyes like she expects Murphy to hand her the stars.

Murphy lifts a shoulder. He will never admit it out loud, but the way the kid is looking at him makes something in him expand with inexplicable pride. And all he had to do was throw a rock.

He shakes his head. Kids were weird.

"Well," he looks around the compound himself, a few passersby waving at her. Murphy waves back mockingly. "What do you _want_ to make disappear?"

The little girl bunches up her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug, a habit that Murphy instantly recognizes as from Bellamy. "I don't know," Aquila says honestly. Those eyes suddenly light up again. "Can you make the rock come back?" She asks, like this is the most exciting thing she's known in her whole three years.

Murphy raises a brow. Oh sure, the kid can't understand how he made a rock disappear by throwing it, but can reason that what he made disappear he can make reappear again.

He can't tell if this is the making of a very gullible child or one with a higher IQ than himself.

Dismissing that thought, Murphy mirrors her imitation of her father's shrug. "You know, I could. But maybe a rock is too easy. Think we could get something better?"

She nods, blonde curls bouncing.

He rubs his hands together, racking his brain. "Okay, but first, we need a helper. See that nice lady who's waving to you? Well, we're just gonna walk by her, and I want you to say hi."

They do. Aquila plays her role, waving up at the dark-haired woman and introducing herself like a three-foot dignitary.

As the woman is distracted, Murphy spots something in the woman's back pocket. He quickly waves goodbye to the woman and peals Aquila away.

"All right," he says when they've walked a little. "Ready for another magic trick?"

"Yes!" Aquila nearly shouts.

Murphy smiles, gripping the object in his hand. "All right, remember to close your eyes again."

She does.

"And say the magic words. . . 'ta-da-."

"Ta-da!"

Murphy opens his hand to reveal a round piece of shining metal. He's not sure what it is himself, some sort of trinket, but it catches in the light and glimmers like silver. Kids, he's found, are like birds; they like shiny things.

As if to prove him right, Aquila snatches up the coin and jumps up and down in delight. It lasts approximately thirty seconds. "What else? What else?" She asks, looking about as though things will appear out of thin air.

By the end of the afternoon, Aquila is holding an assortment of different treasures in her tiny hands. Murphy glances around warily, catching his neck; he knows that time alone will have Bellamy or Clarke asking him questions about this. Aquila will probably lose her pretty toys, but that'll be a tantrum Murphy won't be around to see.

For now, the little dignitary seems content.

She looks away from her full hands and cranes her neck up to him. She asks if there's more.

_Well._

Murphy rustles her hair as they head to the clinic. "Now don't get greedy," he says. He smirks at the irony; as if he should be the one to teach that lesson.

They've just reached the front of the small building when the door to the clinic suddenly swings open and out walks Miller, a white bandage secured above his right eye.

Murphy raises his eyebrows, looking at the man in surprise. "You okay, Miller?"

Miller rubs the area around his wound, wincing. "Yeah. Fine. Weirdest thing; some rock came out of nowhere today and hit me."

Murphy's quick to feign innocence. "Huh. That _is_ weird."

"Was that _our_ rock?" Aquila whispers, her mouth dropping into a small 'o.'

Murphy takes her by the shoulders and ushers her quickly into the clinic. "No, no that was a different rock," he assures her. "See _that's_ what happens when you forget to blow on it."

***********

"All right, so the thing about tomato plants is that you have to plant them deep," says Jordan. He takes a wooden spade and begins pulling out the soil, one scoop at a time. "It's also best to use cages," he continues. "That's what that wire mesh over there is for."

Aquila watches intently, her own spade in her hand. She looks at the strange sheet of wire. "Why do they need a cage?"

Jordan looks up from the hole he's dug. The question carries a profoundness to it, and suddenly he finds himself thinking back to his time on the ring. His life there. That had been a cage of sorts, but he hadn't known it then. How strange it is that a cage doesn't look like a cage until only after you've left it.

"This helps them stay in place," he answers after a long moment. "So they can grow."

The four year old looks between the sprouted plant and the wire, as though she is not entirely convinced.

Jordan has to hand it to her; she might be young, but she asks good questions. He gestures for her to come closer. "Here, get as much dirt on there as you can," he says, helping her dig. "Don't fall in."

After the hole is deep enough, Jordan picks up the plant. Now, since this seed is already sprouted, we want to lay it on its side."

Aquila looks at it, unimpressed. "It looks like a stick," she deadpans. "With some dirt."

Jordan smiles, his laugh turning into a cough due to a wayward particle. "It might not look like much now, but it will one day."

"When?"

"In a few months."

Her eyebrows nearly rise to her hairline. "That _long?"_

"It'll go by fast."

He can tell by her expression that she doesn't believe him.

The collar of his jacket catches suddenly on the item around his neck. It pinches his skin and makes him feel as though he is being choked. Jordan readjusts it with his free hand, until the goggles he often keeps on himself now are resting against his chest. He takes the plant back in both hands.

Aquila's eyes fasten on them instantly. "What're those?"

Jordan glances down. "Oh, these were my dad's," he says. The mention always has a strange effect on him, pride mingled with a sharp ache. It's dulled over the years, but it is still there. Jordan hopes it never goes completely.

"Well," he amends. "They're technically from my dad's best friend. He's who I'm named after."

Aquila studies them, so full of that curiosity. It reminds Jordan of himself. "Can I try them?" she asks, almost timidly.

Jordan doesn't think about it for too long. He pulls them from his neck. "Now these are very special to me, but I know you'll be careful." He extends the pair to the little girl.

Aquila sets her spade down. With care he's never known a four-year-old to possess, she takes the goggles in her hands. She holds them as though they are something priceless, as fragile as glass.

She raises them to her eyes. "Are they magical goggles?" She asks quietly, peering up at him, her whole face nearly fitting within the protective wear.

Jordan grins. "I guess they are, in a way."

She looks from him to the field they sit in, observing the area with a careful eye. "What can you see with them?"

Jordan sets the tomato plant in the hole before sitting back. Again with those simply profound questions. "I like to think I can see my dad and my mom," he says softly.

Aquila looks back at him. "Can you?"

His smile turns a little somber. "No."

"Then how are they magical?"

He thinks about it. "They're not magical because of what we see. They're magical because of what they've seen." He leans over and taps the plastic surface gently. "These goggles traveled all the way from another planet. They've come all the way from up there," he points. "From the stars."

Aquila follows his finger with her gaze, craning her neck back to see. "They've seen all the way into Heaven?" She asks, staring as if she can see from the blue sky to the place he's speaking of. "Wow," she murmurs. She looks for a long while before finally lowering her gaze, the goggles falling lopsided over her eyes. Aquila suddenly squeezes them shut and waves to nobody in particular. "Hi, Jordan's mama and daddy," she whispers conspiratorially.

The words make his chest squeeze. "What was that for?" He asks.

Aquila opens her eyes. She readjusts the goggles and picks up her spade. "Just in case," she murmurs.

************

Bellamy thinks his favorite time of day is when it's ending.

When the work is done and there are no distractions. When it is quiet, and he can be still. When everything big falls away and the substance of what matters fits within the confines of the small cabin he built nearly five years ago. In all his time on the ground, it was the first real roof he's made, pulled from the earth instead of plucked from the stars. It wasn't a frail piece of covering. It wasn't metal. It wasn't reused or recycled. He had built it himself, for no other purpose than for his own family.

_Family._

No matter how many years pass, that word still catches in his throat. It makes a place in his chest feel light. He hopes there never comes a day when it stops having that effect.

Tonight, Bellamy is putting out the last flames flickering in the small furnace, a little something Raven whipped up a few years back to offer some heat. He's just finished when a high voice calls to him from the small bedroom.

"Coming." Bellamy stand and walks over, entering the room to find Clarke laying on a cot beside a messy-haired five-year-old. The little girl's brown eyes look up at him expectantly. She pats the available corner of her bed.

Bellamy smiles and sits down. He rustles his daughter's feather-soft hair. One of his fingers catch in a tangle. "Someone needs to brush their hair. It's turning into a bird's nest." He grins at Clarke. "Our wild-child."

Aquila runs her hands over her hair as if he's somehow messed it up. Then she lays down, fully prepared for her story.

They tell her one every night, some at a higher demand than others.

Bellamy lies down with her, propping himself up on his shoulder. His free hand reaches across Aquila for Clarke's, intertwining his fingers through hers. "What'll it be tonight, Princess?"

Their daughter's expression turns contemplative. "The star one," she says.

Bellamy glances at Clarke, a knowing look in her brilliant blue eyes.

_Of course._

"Do you think you'll ever get tired of hearing it?" He asks.

The little girl shakes her head. "No."

Bellamy bumps her gently with his shoulder. "Good, because I don't get tired of telling it." He sighs, unfurling the story in his mind like a beloved book. "Well, a long time ago, way before you ever came, the ground wasn't a safe place. So people had to live in the stars."

"Because it was bad, huh?" says Aquila, having to tilt her head back to look at him.

Bellamy nods. "You're right. But someone had to go down to the ground sooner or later to see if it was safe."

"And you did!" She squeals. She looks over to Clarke. "You and mama."

"That's right. Me and your mama."

"But you didn't like each other very much at first."

Bellamy tickles her. "Do you want to tell the story instead?"

"No!"

"All right then. Yes, your mother and I didn't get along very well. But that's because we didn't know each other. And when we did, we began to work together instead." He lets the memories wash over him, the good and the bad, the ones that make him smile and the ones that still haunt him. They run over him like water. "Lots of hard things happened, but your mom was so strong." He taps her on the nose and looks at Clarke, who's staring back at him, a gentle smile on her lips.

"And you, Dad?"

Bellamy shrugs dismissively. "Oh, I was-"

"Hard-headed," Clarke interjects, her smile turning into a grin. "But very brave. You have one tough Dad."

Aquila smiles proudly, as though both compliments are hers to own.

"Anyway," Bellamy forges on with a faux look of irritation at both of them. "The ground was still hard. There were lots of problems. Eventually one came that was so big, we had to build a big rocket that would take us back to the stars." Bellamy doesn't tell her that Clarke wasn't there with him. He doesn't tell his daughter that on that day, he left her mother behind.

Clarke squeezes his hand and he finds her gaze, just as he does every time at this part of the story. Never once has he seen blame in her eyes. Never once will he.

"And we went back," he continues, pointing up towards the wooden ceiling. "Way up there, past all the birds and even the clouds."

"Was it dark up there?" Aquila asks quietly.

Bellamy considers. "Sort of. But you had all those stars around, you couldn't fear the dark."

It isn't technically a lie. Bellamy feared the dark, but it was a different dark than the one she speaks of now.

"And you had to stay for a long time," Aquila continues with a knowing nod, because Bellamy can't count how many times he has told her this story. As numerous as the stars it features.

"Right. But when things got better, we were able to go back to the ground."

"When it was safe again."

It's Bellamy's turn to nod. "Yeah. In fact, I think you know this story better than we do," he muses. "What do you think, Clarke? Should Aquila tell it to us this time?"

Clarke settles deeper into the bed. "Oh, absolutely."

Aquila sits up, gaze snapping between the both of them.

"What happened after they came back from the stars again?" Bellamy proffers a starting point.

The girl doesn't miss a beat and twists around to face them. she plops back down and crosses her legs. "Oh, there were more problems. And then, something else happened! And they had to leave. _Again!"_

Bellamy feigns shock along with Clarke. "No way," Clarke says.

Aquila bobs her head, disturbing her tangled curls. "Yeah." She weaves her fingers together diplomatically. "But this time, they had to go to sleep. They were put into these special boxes that kept them- that kept them safe. And it took so so long. _So_ long."

"You emphasize very strongly," Clarke notes.

Their daughter brings an index finger up to her lips, gesturing for them both to be quiet.

Bellamy bites back a chuckle.

"And while they were sleeping, Uncle Monty found a whole new place for everyone!"

"Was it a big place?" Clarke asks.

Aquila nods again, evidently accepting questions but no statements. "Yes. Huge. Uncle Monty did not come with us because he had to stay in the sky with Aunt Harper."

The memory makes Bellamy's chest ache. An old wound.

The little girl smiles fondly. "But Uncle Jordan got to come. He taught me how to plant those tomatoes." Suddenly she pitches her voice low. "I don't really like tomatoes," she whispers. "But don't tell Uncle Jordan I said that."

Clarke pretends to seal her lips. "Then what happened?"

Aquila scratches her head. "Um. Well, then they had to make a new home. Where there were no more problems. And everyone was nice to each other." She beams at both of her parents, the force of her grin poking two dimples into her cheeks. "The end!"

Bellamy matches her brilliant smile, eyes settling on Clarke once more. So many words are spoken in the silence, he's found. Wishes. Regrets. They fit so easily in the eyes. He knows Clarke can see them in his, as clearly as he can see them in her own.

One day his daughter will ask bigger questions about the stars, the real reason why they left them. Why they had to go back. She'll ask about Monty, and Harper. About the men in the mountain. The wave of fire that swept the world away. She'll ask them who the good guys were. The cost it took to be them. The cost it took not to be.

And Bellamy will tell her. Bellamy and Clarke will tell their daughter everything.

But not tonight. Not yet.

For now it is just a story, one of hope and only happy endings.


End file.
